Out of Hell
by Blackpenny
Summary: Some people claim that Olrik died after he was blown up in a helicopter, but I maintain that is would take more than a rocket powered robot bomb to kill this villain. Another vignette from the Blake and Mortimer comic books; I don't own the series, but I recommend it!


The helicopter is too damned slow and they need to get out of there now. There is no time and he's about ready to throttle the pilot and that thing is coming toward them fast and it's too fast and oh, god, they need to get out and there's no ti-

The buzzing is unbearable, as if there's static inside his skull; only the buzzing, no other sound. How strange. After a moment, there is pain as well, and an unbearably bright light that goes through his retinas like an ice-pick. It occurs to Olrik that hell is quite as bad as everyone says, but that doesn't make sense because he doesn't really believe in hell and that is the main issue although that line of reasoning doesn't quite make sense either. The light goes out.

When he comes to again, the buzzing is not quite as bad, and the light is dimmer. Olrik takes a breath and realizes that he can open his eyes, that he can think coherently, and that he is alive against all reason. His attempt to roll over causes a piercing pain in his left arm that has him gasping and cursing. He tries to move his right arm – so far so good. He flexes one leg and then another. Both are incredibly sore, but he doesn't think there are any fractures. Rolling over onto his right hand and knees takes several minutes. There are clearly injuries to his ribs and face as well as the broken arm. Every breath is acutely painful. His clothes are a tattered mess and he is soaked through. How on earth has the presence of a man covered in blood gone unnoticed, especially a white man in Japan? Olrik is pretty sure that he is still in Japan.

Tentatively rising to his feet, Olrik realizes that he is on small, stony deserted beach, surrounded by rocks and trees. Except for a few pieces of trash, there are no obvious signs of human use; no huts, houses, food stalls, or roads. The sun is setting fast and he is in no shape to start a journey. There is nothing to do but sit tight for now and hope nothing else happens. That he is alive is enough for how. Olrik uses what's left of his shirt to make a sling for his broken arm and staggers over to a rock. He'll sleep sitting up tonight, and see what happens tomorrow.

An hour or so before dawn, Olrik wakes. He is chilled to the bone and his whole body throbs in pain, but he's alive and free. Free, but not alone; a figure in silhouette is coming towards him too purposefully for comfort. Olrik looks for a sharp rock or stick, anything to use for a weapon to strike the figure if it gets too close. Whatever it is, it's massive and waving it's arms. Also, noisy… wait a second.

"Hey, you? English? You know help?"

Good God, it can't be. It has to be a hallucination.

"English? Telephone?"

"For Christ's sake Sharkey, why aren't you dead?" Olrik's voice is hoarse and ragged.

The big man is not only alive, but appears to be in much better shape than Olrik. He's wearing what appears to be a crude toga made of canvas and has several bright pink burns, none of which look serious. Aside for some singed hair, he appears perfectly intact.

"Boss? Boss!" Sharkey reaches out as if he's going to give Olrik a bear hug, but he backs off at his employer's gesture. "I thought you were dead, boss! I thought I was dead, too, for a second. I can't believe I found you! Everything's going to be okay now! Say, do you know where we are? Oh, I guess you don't but I bet you can figure it out, right?"

Olrik sits back down heavily. "Say, boss, you don't look so good. Maybe we should get to a doctor." Olrik would laugh if it weren't so painful.

"Sharkey, listen. I'm glad to see you. I'm glad you're alive. Now shut up." He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them, Sharkey is waiting as expectantly as a dog waiting for someone, anyone to throw a stick.

The wheels in Olrik's head begin to spin, however reluctantly. "We can't go back to The Scorpio Group. That's obvious. We have to be careful about going anywhere. You look like Caesar's bouncer and I can hardly see."

"Your face is all swelled up and you got two really bad shiners, boss, and I think your nose is broken, probably. You must have hit the water hard."

"No doubt. How the hell did you get off so easy?"

"Clean living, I guess." The big man guffaws at his own wit.

Olrik frowns. How dare that idiot be so happy? On the other hand, Sharkey has always looked for someone else to make decisions, and now he has someone so… He looks down at himself and realizes that a portion of his trousers have survived. He checks the surviving pocket. Empty.

"I have money, boss," Sharkey holds up a wallet. "Can you believe it? I have, lemme see, 300 yen. What can that do for us?"

"It can get us help if we ever find a phone. Were there any signs of civilization from where you came from?"

"I came from here, boss. I've been here since last night. I can't believe we didn't see each other, sleeping on the same beach. Maybe you didn't notice my sail here?"

Olrik shakes his head and instantly regrets it. He steadies his head with his good hand until Sharkey interrupts again.

"Say boss, look over there. There's a bunch of guys on the other side of the bay."

Olrik squints until he can see what Sharkey is talking about. "I'd bet my life that those are cops or navy or whatever the Japanese use to guard their coast.

"We need to get going right now, Sharkey. We need to stay out of sight and find clothes if we can without drawing attention to ourselves. As soon as we get to a phone, I'll call Delaney, and he'll take care of everything."

Delaney is Olrik's London _sub rosa_ lawyer, a man of great resource and no scruples. He might not have connections in Japan, but he'll know how to get them. It will be complicated, but no other plan presents itself. Sharkey smiles as if their problems are already solved. He discreetly puts a supportive hand under Olrik's good arm as the two set off.

It turns out that the beach where they were stranded was deserted because it isn't much of a beach. Within half a mile, Sharkey and Olrik find themselves on a large, sandy stretch free of rocks and driftwood. If they had washed up here last night, they would have been noticed instantly. It's the devil's own luck once again, Olrik thinks. Lucifer didn't land unscathed either. Before the sun is much higher in the sky, Sharkey and Olrik have the company of a several fishermen and some elderly strollers. The Japanese are clearly startled by the appearance of the two obviously damaged white men, but none of them interfere. Who knows why crazy white people do what they do?

Olrik can no longer stand up straight and his breathing is shallow and more painful than ever. Sharkey helps his boss sit down on a bench beside a small concession and souvenir stand. They wait until the owner shows up and confront the man, who is terrified at their appearance. Using what little Japanese he has and a great deal of effort, Olrik manages to communicate they he and Sharkey are no threat, that they were attacked, that they only want to use the telephone for a minute. Mr. Arai is skeptical but shrugs it off when Sharkey pulls out his 300 yen. He brings his phone, a pencil, and a notepad and retreats to the back of the store to begin his morning routine. Sharkey holds the receiver to Olrik's ear and keeps the paper steady. Olrik calls Delaney at home, reversing the charges. The lawyer is highly annoyed but gets his brain up to speed in a hurry. He asks for the phone number of the little store and tells Olrik to stay and wait until help arrives. No, he can't say exactly what the help will look like, but it will arrive within two hours.

When Olrik hangs up, Mr. Arai wordlessly brings over two cups of coffee and a pair of towels. Olrik can't tell if the coffee is any good as his tastebuds don't seem to be working, but it is pleasant to have something hot to hold onto. Coffee finished, he asks Mr. Arai for a key to the tiny washroom. The sight of his face in the mirror is a shock. He knew about the black eyes and the bloody nose, but Sharkey hadn't mentioned the near total singeing of his hair. He looks like someone who has run through a fire into a tree. Olrik uses the toilet and attempts to clean his hands and face as best he can with a broken arm. The result is discouraging.

When Sharkey has had his turn in the restroom, the two men thank Mr. Arai and leave. Sharkey puts his finger to his lips and frowns, and Mr. Arai nods in understanding of the universal language of threat. The two men sit back down on their bench and sit in silence for a while. Olrik slumps on the bench and concentrates on breathing in the least painful way possible. Sharkey gently touches his shoulder.

"Boss, things will be better next time."

Olrik opens his eyes. "There won't be a next time."

"What do you mean, boss?

"I'm done. That's all."

"But boss, what else can – "

"I don't know. I don't care. I'm done. Enough."

Sharkey nods solemnly and stares off into space. They don't exchange another word until more than an hour later when a large, black, American-made car pulls up beside them. Two men in black suits and dark glasses get out of the front and walk right up to the bench.

"We're from Delaney," says the older of the two, with only a trace of Japanese accent." In Japanese, he directs the younger to help Sharkey get Olrik into the car. Olrik doesn't resist as they lift him into the car. Once inside, he decides that whatever happens next is out of his hands. He ignores the talk between Sharkey and the older Japanese man and allows himself to relax. Trust in Delaney because there's nothing you can do, he thinks, before passing out.

Olrik's next sensation is of being pulled shoulders first out of the car and lifted onto a stretcher. Sharkey is following beside babbling away while a number of utter strangers ignore him. Olrik is unable to make out a single word. He is taken inside a building and through a series of halls. Olrik observes with detached interest as a group of people in hospital scrubs discuss his condition in Japanese. He feels hands probing his injuries and while it hurts, the pain seems to be coming from far away. He will die or he will live; there is nothing to worry about. Now there's a doctor, or maybe a nurse, with a hypodermic. He is aware of a slight pinch in his arm, and then nothing.

Olrik awakens in a bland, clinical room devoid of personality. He's glad to see that it's much too clean and comfortable to be part of a prison hospital. He feels groggy and confused, but much better overall. Perhaps it's the effect of good quality drugs. There's a thick bandage on his face and his nostrils are stuffed with gauze. His left arm is in a proper cast, and his right arm sports an IV drip. There's a catheter down there as well, he realizes with distaste.

After a few minutes, a smiling orderly pads into the room and checks his pulse, blood pressure, temperature, and the various tubes while keeping up a reassuring stream of muttered Japanese all the while. The man fills a plastic jug of water and makes a gesture that might mean, "goodbye" or "I'll be right back." Within five minutes he is back, opening the door for a small, grey-haired man who can only be a doctor.

"Mr. Templeton! You are a lucky man." The doctor pulls up a chair beside the bed. "I am Dr. Inoue. You feel like death warmed up now, correct?"

Olrik attempts to nod, and fails. At least Sharkey had the wit to use an assumed name, although not enough to make up a new one altogether.

"We had to operate. You had a slow leak in one lung from a bad break in the rib, also a very bad break in the nose. We had to realign the bones. I think you will see it is a beautiful job when the dressing comes off. The break in your arm was nice and clean - an easy fix. You will stay here for two weeks, perhaps a little more I think."

"Two weeks? Good lord."

"You will be bored," the doctor admits, "but it is necessary. Yoshi will come back in a moment to make you more comfortable. You will be able to move about a little, but do not attempt to do so without attendance and do not overstrain. Yoshi will help you with the washing and we will get you a meal. Nothing heavy. Also, your friend Mike wishes to see you." The doctor gives Olrik a sly look. "An exhausting man. He is wearing out the staff with questions. I will tell him, five minutes only, when you are ready, not before."

Inoue continues his examination of Olrik, expressing satisfaction with condition of his patient and the neat stitches. He changes several of the dressings, gives directions to Yoshi, and promises to return. Yoshi, in turn, conducts his excessively intimate tasks as respectfully as possible. Trust to Delaney to arrange a top-flight hospital. He will have to give the man a bonus soon. In thirty minutes, Olrik is sitting in an armchair by the window in fresh new clothes while Yoshi changes the sheets. The orderly or perhaps nurse smoothes the bed cover, smiles, gives a quick bow and leaves Olrik alone with his thoughts.

"Say, you look a lot better, boss. Dr. Inoue said you were nearly a gonner, but I guess they fixed you up good. He says you they'll cut you loose in 10 days or maybe two weeks, I forget. Delaney will get us ticket as soon as you tell him where you want to go. Say, boss, this grub ain't bad."

It is two days later. Inoue had decided that Olrik was up to an evening visitor, so he allowed Sharkey, a.k.a. Mike, to bring in two dinners of rice, chicken, vegetables and coffee-flavored pudding. The bodyguard is ridiculously cheerful and ridiculously dressed in a suit of a very unfortunate brown plaid with a tan shirt and an orange striped tie. He tells Olrik that he bought the suit with the help of Nakamura and Matsumoto, the two men who brought them to the clinic. They're apparently on loan from a branch of the Japanese mafia - the Yakuza – real nice guys, according to Sharkey. Olrik suspects that the three of them have been enjoying the famous Kyoto nightlife together.

The big man talks on and on about very little, not at all discouraged by Olrik's silence. It's become a routine; Sharkey talks and Olrik thinks. Sharkey eats his own meal and half of Olrik's and wistfully mentions how good a beer would be right now. Finally, he looks at his enormous hands as if working up to a point.

"Boss, when we were waiting for the guys, you weren't feeling so well. Maybe you said things you didn't actually mean."

"You're speaking of my decision to retire."

Sharkey stares for a full twenty seconds. "Jesus! You're not kidding!"

"I've made my decision."

"But what are you gonna do? You're not thinking about going back to soldiering, are you?"

Olrik rolls his eyes, which still hurts a bit, dammit.

"Good god, no. I said retire and I mean retire," Olrik snaps. "Look, it isn't any of your business, but I've been thinking about this for a while now. I'm too damned old to get shot out of the sky again. I'm too damned old to play spy and risk the clink."

"You were thinking of quitting even before the accident?

"Accident? We were blown out of the sky by a robot samurai, and this isn't even the strangest - " Olrik bites back his impatience. "We are targets and always will be, at least under our current identities. You might want that, but I'm tired of it." Olrik leans back and closes his eyes. Damn. The last thing he needs is Sharkey in a panic. This calls for diplomacy; boring, time-consuming, hateful diplomacy.

"Look, Sharkey, I'm not cutting you loose. I'll arrange a payout, and I can set you up with another employer. There will be plenty of time to sort things out."

The big man waves as if to shoo away the thought and frowns in great concentration.

"You know, it's kind of funny, but I been thinking about it too, not real serious or anything. I've been thinking about going back to Chicago. Nobody remembers why I got out of there anymore. My pop left me some dough when he passed and I haven't touched a dime of it. I got some of my own in the bank as well."

"Really?" How odd. Olrik had always assumed that Sharkey spent everything on booze, gambling halls, and loud women.

"Yeah, really," Sharkey replies defensively. "You don't have to worry about me. I mean, I don't say no to a payout, but I'm doin' okay. I got prospects," he adds with a touch of pride. Then Sharkey's expression changes to concern. "How are you fixed? Or are you going to get a straight job in a bank or somewheres?" Sharkey chuckles at what he considers a witticism.

"I have been reviewing a number of options. Delaney is already working on it. If you're serious, he can get you tickets back to your beloved Chicago and set up false identification, land purchases, anything you like."

"Hey, that's a swell offer, boss. I might just do that."

"So why were you trying to talk me out of retiring?"

"I wasn't sure you were thinking right, but I guess you are." Sharkey pauses and drops his tone. "You know, I kind of thought maybe us surviving that crash was a miracle. I mean, you shouldn't waste a miracle, right? But then, you just don't throw your work away either. But if you got a plan, well, that's okay with me. Of course, it might be different for you, 'cause you never did a straight job, right? Didn't you mention that once? Not counting the army, I mean. Anyways, you might want to think about going somewhere where you know people or someone who can look after you like I done."

"Sharkey, I am not coming with you to Chicago."

"Awww, you never know, boss. Maybe you won't get there right away, but maybe you'll get there, you know what I'm saying? I mean, life sometimes works out kind of screwy."

"That much is true. Sharkey, I'm very tired."

"Oh, sorry boss!" Sharkey jumps to his feet, nearly knocking over his chair. The bodyguard stacks the trays and smoothes Olrik's blankets in an almost maternal gesture, ignoring his employer's indignant expression. It's hard to look threatening with a face full of bandages. "I'll come back tomorrow, okay? We can talk about your plans." The big man walks to a door and stops dead. He turns around with a guilty look that sets off Olrik's internal alarms.

"Hey, boss, did the doc talk to you about the surgery?"

Olrik is mystified. "Of course he did. He said it went perfectly."

"It did. I mean, for breathing and everything, your nose will be fine, but it got kind of smashed."

Oh, damn. Olrik instantly imagines his own profile with as many bumps as Sharkey's, or worse, a ridiculous button like the cursed Mortimer's.

"Inoue said they fixed it up nice, but there wasn't quite enough, um, cartilage, to do it exactly like before. It might be a little less, um…"

"A little less, what? Spit it out," Olrik attempts to feel his nose through the bandages.

"Well, not quite so, um," He makes a sweeping gesture in the air. "More straight. But not real different. I just thought you might want to know, cause if you're thinking about changing your identity, it might be a good thing."

"Thank you, Sharkey. Go away, Sharkey."

"Huh? Yeah, goodnight boss," the bodyguard says with a grin. "I'll see you tomorrow."

In one of many subsequent visits, Olrik offers to send Sharkey back to America right away, but the bodyguard insists on staying until his former boss is released from the hospital. When the bandages come off, Olrik has to admit that Inoue did do a beautiful job. Sharkey claims he can't see any difference but Olrik can tell that his nose is slightly straighter. It's still beak-like, but the subtle change, along with a beard and a different way of combing his hair will be enough to fool his enemies, especially since everyone seems to think he is dead. Full recovery will take several more weeks, but he can go out in public without attracting undue attention.

At Tokyo International Olrik shakes Sharkey's hand and urges the man on to his gate. The big man is almost in tears and cannot be stopped from lifting Olrik off the ground in a hug.

"Remember, boss, Malone's on Madison. You come by for a free drink any time."

Olrik watches his former boduguard leave with a little regret and a great deal of relief. Nobody is looking for them actively, but it's better to split up, especially with a big galoot like Sharkey. He'll miss the man's loyalty and, to a lesser extent, the man's company. He's always assumed that Sharkey's brain was there merely to animate his muscle, but the man has a head for business. In fact, he was able to listen to Sharkey's plans for his new bar and restaurant without exasperation for minutes at a time, something he hadn't thought possible.

Olrik's own flight is for Geneva. It will approximately three months for him to sell off sufficient assets and consolidate his accounts, not to mention figuring out where to go next. Delaney has someone working on it, and is looking into possible havens. Olrik has several bolt-holes, and "nests" some more pleasant than others, but he hasn't truly been settled in a very long time. He would like to build a home for himself, some place where he doesn't have to watch his back every minute. The idea is exciting and uncomfortable. It will be difficult to learn to live in one place, to actually live somewhere. How strange.

Once safely in the air, Olrik orders a drink and pulls out his notepad and pen. He begins to do the "homework" Delaney assigned: creating a list that can be turned into some kind of c.v. In tiny handwriting, using his particular code, Olrik starts creating a record of the people and countries he's worked for, the aircraft he's flown, the weapons he's used, the languages he knows, and the arms, treasure, and information he's traded in. The lovely young stewardess smiles like an angel and hands him a gin and tonic and a small pillow for his injured arm and Olrik reflects that he could used to travelling like a businessman all the time. If it works out, going straight could be the greatest caper he's ever pulled.

**The End**


End file.
